Page 10 of The Dramatic Life of Jonah Penrose
“No, I didn’t.”
“You did, actually. You said ‘And he expects us to fight for him. Wewon’t go, Patroclus.’ And the line is ‘And he expects us to go to battle for him, Patroclus. We will not go.’ There’s a difference.”
The train whined as it slowly moved again, the air inside stifling hot as they crawled into the next station. As the doors opened, a poster forThe Wooden Horsegreeted them on the platform, the one where Jonah and Bastien were about to kiss, their faces painted in shades of blue against a dark red background. Dexter clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, his lips pouting.
“Did you see the show at the fringe or when we did the tour?” Dexter asked. “The tone was different then. Achilles was more playful with Patroclus. I think the character lacks some of that heart now.”
“Thank you for the glowing review.”
“I didn’t say it was your fault, it’s all in the direction.” He narrowed his eyes at Jonah. “You look like you’re going to throw up.”
Jonah shook his head as more people stuffed themselves into the carriage, pushing on and on even when space no longer existed. Bodies moved down the carriage, Edward so close he could almost touch him now, and as the doors closed and the train pulled away Jonah could feel tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. He sucked in a deep breath and tried to make himself as small as possible. An animal hiding from a predator, stuck between two dangers, and he didn’t know which one he’d rather tear him apart.
“Jonah?” Edward. No. Why did God hate him? “Jonah, hi,” Edward said softly, his shoulder knocking against Jonah’s as the train fumbled along the tracks.
“Hey,” Jonah said, voice clipped, awkward, terribly awkward. He could feel Dexter watching the exchange, his hazel eyes eating up the interaction and no doubt keeping note of how Jonah could have handled it better to report back to him later.
“How are you?” The words were so simple. Kind, even, or an illusion of kindness; Edward didn’t actually care how he’d been, Jonah knew that.
“Fine.”
“Just finished work?”
Jonah nodded. The dark-haired man standing beside Edward nudgedhim with his elbow, a bright smile on his face, bright enough to rival the Christmas lights on Oxford Street in the winter.
“Well, Ed, aren’t you going to introduce me?” Ed? He hated being called Ed.
Edward ran his finger along the inside of his shirt collar, apparently wanting to loosen it, his jaw set tight. “Wes, this is Jonah.”
Wes let out a laugh, slightly strained, though Jonah could sense some genuine joy behind it. He grabbed Jonah’s hand and squeezed in his own in a poor attempt of a handshake. “I’m assuming you’retheJonah Penrose? Ed’s talented friend?”
He wanted the ground to split open and drag him down into whatever lay beneath it. Hell, molten lava, eternal darkness, he would take any of it if it meant he didn’t have to be part of this conversation anymore.
“Ed’s told me a lot about you,” Wes continued. “I keep saying he should take me to see your show, but he’s dragging his feet getting tickets.”
Jonah wished he could take his eyes away from the way Wes wrapped his arm around Edward’s waist, the movement so casual but filled with intimacy. He felt Dexter shuffle closer beside him, forcing himself into the narrative, of course, and he debated pressing the emergency alarm by the door just to make the complete debacle stop.
“You should go. The show is amazing, and Jonah’s outstanding,” Dexter said, causing Jonah to raise an eyebrow at the compliment. “They don’t just hand Oliviers out to anyone.”
“Of course!” Wes smiled, and God, his teeth were whiter than Dexter’s. “Sorry, I didn’t catch your name?” he asked, directing his words to Dexter.
“I didn’t say it,” he replied, though he spoke with a smile on his lips. “Dexter Ellis.”
Jonah noted how Edward’s expression changed slightly, the name one he’d heard from Jonah dozens of times, the myth, the legend, finally real in front of him. He shot Jonah a look, one full of questions and a fair amount of confusion thrown in too.
“How do you two know each other?” Jonah asked, looking away from Edward to focus on Wes. “Your name has never come up in conversation before.”
Wes rolled his eyes, then glanced at Edward with a fond warmth in his eyes. “Why don’t you tell anyone about me? Am I your dirty little secret?” Though his tone came out as playful, there was something accusing laced within his words. When Edward gave an awkward laugh as a response, Wes tutted. “We work together,” he said. “And started dating about... God, how long, about seven months ago?”
Jonah wanted the carriage to go up in flames. Edward couldn’t look at him, his eyes fixed on the floor as Wes continued to speak, but his words were eaten by the drumming sound in Jonah’s ears. Seven months.Seven months.
“I’m sorry, I can’t do this,” Jonah said, his body deciding his fight-or-flight mode needed to kick in and concluding flight would be the best course of action. As soon as they stopped at the next station he got off, not caring that he wasn’t where he needed to be or about the hundreds of people swarming all around him. The last seven months of his relationship with Edward had been a lie.
Jonah wanted London to swallow him, to smother him in darkness so he wouldn’t have to ever bump into Edward or Wes again with their smiling faces and pristine suits. He didn’t want the next awkward exchange with Dexter to happen, where he would know he witnessed something deeply personal and no doubt use it in his takedown plans. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
It wasn’t until Jonah worked his way out of the station and inhaled the night air that he realized tears were falling down his cheeks. He hailed the first taxi he saw, not caring about how much it would cost him. He needed Castle Road. He needed home. He needed to learn how to breathe again and pretend his heart wasn’t shattering into pieces he could never put back together.
Seven
